Total Drek

Or, the thoughts of several frustrated intellectuals on Sociology, Gaming, Science, Politics, Science Fiction, Religion, and whatever the hell else strikes their fancy. There is absolutely no reason why you should read this blog. None. Seriously. Go hit your back button. It's up in the upper left-hand corner of your browser... it says "Back." Don't say we didn't warn you.

Wednesday, January 04, 2006

The art of forgetting*

Once upon a time I spent my days in search a deeper meaning Dracula. Not a very difficult task I have to say - the deeper meaning is not very deep, that is to say, you don't have to do too much digging to get to it.

Obviously I no longer occupy my time with the study of literature.
I do nothing at all with all of that today; but I lose and find the bits and bobs every day. I forget. I hunt for fragments of things I used to know:

"this existence, this
botched, cumbersome, much-mended,
not unsatisfactory thing"



Reading always reminds me of how much I love life. Have any of you by any chance read Orwell's essays? You should, really - Orwell had a astounding talent for sincerety, gut instinct for ethics.

"The essence of being human is that one does not seek perfection, that one is sometimes willing to commit sins for the sake of loyalty, that one does not push asceticism to the point where it makes friendly intercourse impossible, and that one is prepared in the end to be defeated and broken up by life, which is the inevitable price of fastening one's love upon other human individuals."

Reading reminds me, somewhat strangely, that I do live, that I do have a mind for thinking.
Oh nothing very serious. Nothing very complicated. Reminders of what I already knew and need to know again now.

The study of literature is so wrongheaded sometimes, so stupidly in transgression of its privileges as readers. Of course anyone who makes a living from it is bound to forget how to be a reader only. Digging is not a necessary - all I have to do is listen. My much-beloved discipline is superfluous, literature need not be studied, only read. The writers have done the digging -

"Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests.
I'll dig with it."


I misinterpret Seamus Heaney of course.
Also I simplify my own point of view. Academic literary analysis in necessary in the sense that the Church (any Church) is - it may be helpful, but at best it opens the door; and often it closes it. So do you go in?

But you don't even need the books sometimes. Today, this awful morning, gets worse until it gets better.

"Not because of victories
I sing,
having none,
but for the common sunshine,
the breeze,
the largess of the spring."

Even in winter.

*Sorry for all the codswallop. I am all too lyrical today.

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